


The Method in the Madness

by JustAnotherBlonde



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Character cameos but they... are not speaking parts, Choking, Creepy realistic human puppets, Dark, Explosions, Explosives, Holmes-esque, Horror, Long-haired!Sasori, M/M, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Poison, Poisoning, SasoDei Week 2021, Serial Killers, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherBlonde/pseuds/JustAnotherBlonde
Summary: SasoDei Week 2021 || February 23 || HorrorViscount Sasori Redsands invites Police Inspector Deidara Stone over for tea--at midnight. These two have been chasing each other for months, and one way or another, everything traces back to London's two most wanted, most mysterious serial killers: the Puppet Master and the Arsonist.
Relationships: Deidara/Sasori (Naruto)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: SasoDei Week 2021





	1. Right Where I Want You

**Author's Note:**

> I'M GONNA HAVE SOME SPOILERY NOTES BELOW CUZ THIS PIECE NEEDS WARNINGS. but if you don't mind dark twists and surprises, jump on down to the story.
> 
> _this is probably the darkest thing i've ever written and posted. i know i usually write happy endings for my darlings, but this...? yeah. you can see all the tags and warnings above: murder, suicide, poison, explosions, and major character death. most of it happens in the second chapter, so after reading chapter one there's still time to abandon ship, haha... it's a vast departure from my usual SasoDei stuff. if it makes you feel any better, when you finish you can imagine Sas and Dei from my other AU waking up in a cold sweat and being like ‘I just had the scariest dream!’ and then hugging each other. that said, i personally LOVE this dark and twisted piece. it's the dark side of SasoDei that i never write but always exists._

"Midnight is hardly the hour to be inviting someone over for tea, mi _lady_ , mn."

Police Inspector Deidara Stone grinned across the cake-and-porcelain-laden table at Viscount Sasori Redsands, who, as was his wont, lounged in a delicately embroidered and demurely ruffled gown. Now, unlike when he flaunted this look on the streets of London, his brilliant, naturally red hair hung loose about his shoulders: no wig concealed his identity. The redheaded nobleman had propped one elbow up on the table, allowing gravity to peel the lace of his sleeve away, revealing an elegant wrist.

"We're not in public, _Inspector_ Stone: it is unnecessary to address me thus," Sasori retorted, waving his hand dismissively. "This is _my_ house, where I am lord and master."

Inspector Stone tipped his chair back on two legs, balancing teacup and saucer over crossed knees. His jacket and top hat had been whisked away by a servant upon his arrival: the thin shirtsleeves and well-fitted waistcoat he wore now accented his slim, muscular physique. He'd spent his younger days as a constable chasing criminals through back alleys—never mind the even-younger days spent as a fleeing petty thief himself—and it showed.

"And this is _quite_ the house, mn," Deidara commented, peering around the expansive but dimly lit reception room. One lonely oil lamp burned on the table. The wall lamps were dark and the curtains were pulled. In the shadowy recesses, decadent sofas, rich mahogany side tables, and gilded, overflowing bookshelves stood like silent sentinels.

Sasori sipped his tea and pursed his lips. "This estate has belonged to my family for centuries, but it's falling apart. It's a nightmare trying to keep the damned place in good condition. I’m sure my ancestors are rolling in their graves at all of my upgrades."

"I notice you've had the wainscoting replaced, mn." Deidara's eyes tracked along the midline of the room, studying the intricately carved horizontal panels of wood. "Globe amaranth and evergreen... symbols of eternity, correct?"

"The sharp eyes of a police inspector: I'd expect no less," Sasori replied coolly. He almost smiled: he was flattered by Deidara's keen observation, but he refused to let it show. "It's my own design."

"You carved each by hand?" Deidara gazed at him intently, rocking his chair back and forth.

"No, no, of course not!" Sasori retorted, leaning forward and lifting the top off the sugar bowl. "It took a team of craftsmen to duplicate and install them."

Deidara couldn't stop his burst of laughter. "Of course, my mistake: a nobleman such as yourself would never engage in manual labour, mn."

"I have better uses for my time." Sasori selected a lump of sugar, plopped it into his cup, and idly stirred it into his tea.

"Yes," Deidara's grin widened, "like dressing yourself up like a doll and traipsing all over London, mn."

"I do as I please," Sasori replied, shrugging lace-clad shoulders. "Besides, you have never turned down my invitations."

"Accompanying you on your strolls has earned me the epithet of 'London's Ladykiller,' ha! Would it be so terrible for you to stick to one persona?"

"What would be the point? I value my privacy and would rather not be recognized."

"Even if you were recognized, there would be no repercussions. No one can touch you," Deidara remarked. "You're too powerful, mn."

The corner of Sasori's mouth curled into a smug, close-lipped smile; his dark amber eyes glittered in the dim lamplight.

"It _does_ seem as if no one can stop me," he murmured, batting his doll-like lashes.

He lazily extended his hand and selected a petit-four from the tier before him. The cake resembled a tiny, wrapped present. Inspecting it carefully, he plucked the frosting bow off the top and popped it into his mouth. Deidara's intense blue gaze followed his every movement like a starving man.

"Ah, that reminds me!" Sasori locked eyes with Deidara once more. "How goes your investigation?"

Deidara set his chair back to rights and placed his cup on the table. The blond ponytail that always hung at the nape of his neck swung over his shoulder as he did this. He flicked it back into place.

"Which one?" he replied as he reached for a quarter-cut sandwich. He sniffed it, then stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

Sasori smirked.

"'The Arsonist.' Have you any leads?" He continued to pick at the frosting of his cake.

"Ah, the Arsonist. Yes, the dynamite used in the last attack was traced to a shipyard belonging to Dawn Enterprises. But the trail goes cold there: the company doesn't seem to exist, mn."

"Interesting... What a tragedy that was, the attack on the museum. How many people died?"

Deidara sipped his tea, hanging his head so that the blond fringe which always covered his left eye hid his whole face. "Thirty-seven. And hundreds of priceless, irreplaceable works of… ' _art'_ were destroyed, mn."

"Oh? You don't consider museum artifacts to be art?"

Blue eyes flashed. "I wouldn't claim to know much about art, milord, mn."

"Somehow I doubt that," Sasori retorted with a wicked, teasing grin. "Why, you took me to that museum only a month ago! You had plenty to say about art as you showed around Lady Sara... What was it you said? 'There's no beauty in things that last forever. True art lies in the beauty of a single moment.' And then you brazenly kissed me on the cheek in full view of a dozen onlookers!"

Color rose to Deidara's cheeks. "If I recall correctly, Lady Sara claimed to be quite the artist herself, mn."

"Yes," Sasori breathed. "I would love to show you my work..."

"Is that what this is all about?” Deidara hovered a hand over the sandwiches again, but then withdrew. He looked up at Sasori. “This late-night invitation to ‘tea?’ I've seen your work, milord—your designs are reproduced and sold in every toy shop in London. Or do you have some... private collection you'd like to show me?"

Fiddling with the lace of his sleeve, Sasori put on a playful pout. "Perhaps."

He popped the rest of his cake into his mouth and meticulously sucked frosting off each finger. Before the silence could grow too long, he lifted his eyes and asked: "What of your other case? The Puppet Master?"

"I thought you would never ask," Deidara replied, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. " _No one_ is more interested in my progress on that case than you, milord, mn."

Sasori laid a palm on his chest and raised his delicate eyebrows. "Well, I find it _morbidly_ fascinating! A serial killer who shares my passion for creating dolls and puppets? It truly is the _strangest_ coincidence."

"No leads, milord, same as ever,” Deidara sighed into his teacup. “The Puppet Master is incredibly meticulous: they must have a private space where they carry out their... work, and when they place the, the... _exhibitions_ —"

"Please, no need to censor yourself for my maidenly sensibilities, Inspector," Sasori smirked.

They locked eyes. "When they place the _bodies_ ," Deidara continued, "drained of blood, carefully embalmed, with their limbs re-jointed like dolls, they leave no trace. Not a footprint, not a single _hair_ , mn."

"Truly...?" Sasori sighed, gazing wistfully into the middle distance. "Amazing."

Deidara shook his head and allowed himself an incredulous laugh.

"Well," he said as he drained his cup, "as much as I'd love to stay and be introduced to your private collection, I'd best take my leave, milord. I've got to get back to the station for the night shift before the ghosts begin their roaming..."

Sasori stood. He shook his hair back, lifted it restlessly off the back of his neck as he stretched. Taking slow, mincing steps, he traipsed around the table to Deidara's side, trailing lace and loose ribbons as he dragged his fingertips along the tabletop. Deidara had not moved from his seat.

"Don't play that game with me, Inspector," Sasori murmured as he arranged himself on Deidara's lap and combed aside the blond's troublesome fringe. "You and I both know this is your night off, and that you're not here to see my art."

Deidara's hands wandered up Sasori's bodice, feeling the ribbing of the corset which gave Sasori his sweetly curved waist. How easy it was to forget what he came here for… Sasori tipped Deidara's chin upwards with long, thin fingers. There was a hungry look in those veiled brown eyes.

"I know what you want, Inspector," Sasori purred. "You'll have it tonight if you stay."

"You think you know what I want?"

The wandering hands reached Sasori's bird-like neck, and roughly brought those inviting red lips to the destination they sought. Sasori closed his eyes the instant they kissed: after months of chasing, he finally had the inspector right where he wanted him.

Sasori's lips were sugar-sweet: Deidara could taste traces of frosting on his tongue. He closed his eyes, enjoying this moment for all it was worth. And it was worth quite a lot, if tonight went as planned.

His hands wandered down Sasori's back, lower, lower... In one swift movement he stood and lifted Sasori from his lap, placing him firmly on the floor.

"I changed my mind. Show me your art. I want to see, mn," Deidara whispered into Sasori's ear. His eyes were dreamy soft as he kissed Sasori's cheek. He hoped to confuse the untouchable nobleman just enough to keep him guessing.

Sasori blinked: it was not the reaction he'd been expecting, and yet... He leaned over the table and picked up the oil lantern in both hands.

"Come."

He led Deidara out into the main hall, dark as night and devoid of life. The ancient floorboards creaked and groaned as they crossed the black expanse. Every curtain was tightly drawn. The flickering lamplight barely reached the grand chandelier high above their heads; each crystal glinted like a jagged knife.

On the other side of the hall, they entered a pitch black corridor, passing door after closed door. The wallpaper was cracked and peeling; portraits of Redsands ancestors stood vigilant on either side.

"Where are your servants?" Deidara asked in a low voice. The house was so silent; were he to speak at a normal volume, he might disturb the spirits at rest here.

"They leave me to my own devices at night," Sasori's replied without turning. His gown swished rhythmically across the wood-planked floor; the sway of his hips was mesmirising.

Deidara paused beneath a large portrait at the center of the hall. The ceiling reached so high above that he could not make out the man's face. He ran his hand along the frame. Like the wainscoting, this too had been replaced recently: newly varnished wood glistened in contrast to the dulled colors of the painting.

"What are you doing?" Sasori turned and addressed him sharply.

"Who is this, mn?" Deidara pointed up into the shadows.

Sasori clicked his tongue. "A Viscount Redsands who died a hundred years ago having done nothing worth remembering. Come." The redhead all but stamped his foot.

As Deidara turned to follow, his head began to spin. His vision faded slightly around the edges; he staggered sideways.

"Are you alright?" Suddenly Sasori was by his side, wrapping his arm around Deidara's waist and placing Deidara's arm around lace-covered shoulders. They were very similar in height, and Sasori, despite his feminine appearance, was strong.

"It's nothing, just... a little lightheaded, mn."

"Come, we're almost there..."

Breathing was hard; Deidara's heart was pounding as if it would escape his chest. His throat felt dry; nausea swirled his stomach...

"What did you do to me..." he whispered.

Just ahead loomed a thick door of exquisitely carved oak. Scenes unfurled and figures danced before Deidara's delirious eyes in the wavering lamplight. From heaven to hell, angels cavorted with men, devils wrestled wild beasts… Sasori's pale hand encircled the oversized brass knob and with a sharp twist of the wrist, the door fell open. They slipped inside; the heavy oak boomed shut behind them with the finality of a mausoleum door.

"Sit," Sasori commanded, leading Deidara over to a chaise lounge. "You'll feel better in a moment."

While Deidara worked to catch his breath, forcing air through his nose, forcing himself to focus, Sasori ambled the room, lighting candle after candle until the room—and its contents—was revealed.

Dolls. The entire space was occupied by dolls. Porcelain faces, curly hair of every shade, life-like glass eyes, enormous eyelashes and a profusion of colorful lace and taffeta... But there was something strange about the way they stood—they stood on the floor, on the sofas which ranged the room, on shelves, and they... They _moved._ They swayed coyly back and forth. They blinked their eyes. They bobbed and curtseyed.

No, they weren't dolls. They were puppets, hanging on wires from the ceiling, stirred into motion by their master's hand.

Sasori finished his circuit of the room and threw himself onto the sofa beside Deidara.

"Well? What do you think?" he gushed. "My collection! Aren't they beautiful?"

Twin roses bloomed on his pale cheeks; his hair was in disarray. Deidara had never seen this side of him. The pure, child-like joy he radiated was intoxicating.

"Beautiful..." Deidara sighed. His head was pounding. He swallowed on a scratchy, dry throat. Focus.

He pulled himself upright and shook his head.

"Which is your favourite?" he asked as he scanned the room more closely. The dolls varied in size, shape, and gender, he noted. Some bore a resemblance to well-known personages. Why, there was even a small replica of the Queen herself.

"Oh..." Sasori laughed, draping an arm over Deidara's shoulders. "My favourite isn't in this room."

"What else are you going to show me tonight... Master?"

Sasori's smile slipped. "What did you call me?"

"M-milord," Deidara muttered. His head ached as if an anvil sat upon it and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to swallow. He coughed.

He touched a fingertip to the corner of his mouth. Blood.

The sight of it set Sasori's heart aflutter. He leaned forward until his lips were millimeters from Deidara's fingertip. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his mouth onto the finger and sucked off the blood, then kissed the rest of it off Deidara's lips.

Deidara lost himself in the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Sasori's back. Sasori kissed him hungrily, violently, forcing his tongue into Deidara's blood-filled mouth. This time as Deidara ran his hands up and down that curved waist, he fumbled at the stays, tearing at knotted ribbons with increasingly clumsy hands.

"This is what you came here for, isn't it, Inspector?" Sasori panted. He straddled Deidara's legs and released the topmost button of his shirt.

"What else could I possibly want?" Deidara breathed into Sasori's neck. "Hah… ah… nn." Despite his loosened collar, his chest felt uncomfortably tight. Words caught in his throat. His vision grew dark…

He was losing his fight against Sasori's poison.

"Perhaps… you wanted to see my _private_ collection? _Become_ my new favourite piece?" Sasori's voice fluttered into Deidara's ear like moth's wings.

He could no longer move his body. His arms, his legs: numb, heavy as wood.

The last thing Inspector Deidara Stone saw before the world faded to black were blood-red lips curling into a predatory grin.


	2. You Drove Me to This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SasoDei Week 2021 || February 28 || Mad Artist**  
>  _Deidara's gaze slid from his captor to his surroundings. He flinched violently—there was another man standing in the corner! No, he was not alone: people lined the walls of the room, stared down at him, motionless, silent…_  
> 

"Soon…"

"…new playmate…"

"…blond... beautiful…"

"…with us forever…"

"…yes…"

"… Lord Third."

That voice… Voices? It was so familiar. He wanted to run to it—from it. He wanted to run from it. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. He was… He was poisoned! He was poisoned. He—

"…replace you? Never!"

That voice! Conjured… red. Red, red, red… Red hair trailing across his chest, his naked chest, naked…!

Inspector Deidara Stone snapped his eyes open. Viscount Sasori Redsands, lord and master of this house, was leaning across his body, reaching for something to Deidara’s right. Deidara tried to sit up, push the redheaded nobleman away. Leather straps snapped as he jerked his limbs and Sasori jumped back instinctively.

"You're awake…" He gazed upon Deidara with faint puzzlement. Deidara lay still. "No, you can't be awake. Silly me. It's just a reflex, isn't it?"

Once Sasori's back was turned—it sounded like he was arranging a tray of metal things… knives?—Deidara slowly blinked as he regained his senses and the room where he was being held swam into focus. Sasori, on Deidara’s left, drew his gaze first.

The nobleman had changed out of his gown. He wore... he wore Deidara's shirt and waistcoat, loosely buttoned, sleeves rolled up. Around his waist he'd wrapped a white doctor's—no, a butcher's—smock, browned with old blood. Well-fitting black trousers, smart black shoes. His long red hair was plaited down his back, but strands around his ears and forehead had escaped. Delicate rubber gloves the likes of which Deidara had never seen before protected his hands.

Deidara's gaze slid from his captor to his surroundings. He flinched violently—there was another man standing in the corner! No, he was not alone: people lined the walls of the room, stared down at him, motionless, silent… There was a man with blue-black hair swept off his face and golden eyes. There was a woman with paper-thin skin and a white flower in her lavender hair. There was… the silver-haired police inspector who had gone missing last month.

Deidara almost called out his colleague’s name, but as soon as he saw Hidan, he realised the truth.

Puppets. These men and women, ghostly silent, features flawlessly preserved, limbs jointed like dolls, were human puppets. Viscount Sasori Redsands was the Puppet Master: there would be no more denying it. Inspector Deidara Stone finally had the irrefutable evidence he needed to crack the case… if he could escape alive.

He lay back on the operating table and chuckled softly to himself. Things were about to get _very_ interesting.

Sasori spun.

"You _are_ awake! And you're laughing! What could you possibly have to laugh about?" Sasori squinted down at his soon-to-be masterpiece. "You're naked. Strapped to a table. Poisoned. Which, by the way, should have rendered you unconscious. What could you possibly have to laugh about?"

Deidara's laughter grew louder. Tears of mirth pearled at the corners of his eyes.

"For starters," he crowed, "I'm pleased that the microdoses of poison that pink-haired girl from the morgue brewed up for me did _something_ for my immunity, although she must have got the formula wrong if I still got sick, mn."

"What…" Sasori took a step backwards. He was visibly shaken. "No… no, how could this be?"

Muscles strained against leather straps. This was going to be the tricky part.

"She took samples from the 'art' you left us, mn." Leather creaked, threads snapped. Almost.

"What are you doing?!" Sasori jumped forward as soon as he realized his prey was about to escape, but it was too late. Deidara had worked a hand free and was swiftly undoing the buckles. These straps were meant to hold dead bodies in place when Sasori flipped the table to drain their blood—he had not secured them tightly enough to hold a living man with clever hands.

The straps fell aside, buckles jingling. Deidara sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the table and spread them wide. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang as he grinned, unabashedly naked. His hair hung loose, covering his shoulders and half of his face.

" _Now_ what are you going to do, mn?" He held Sasori's gaze, daring him to move.

"You don't leave here alive." Sasori snatched an evil-looking knife from the tray he had been arranging.

"Ha!" Deidara jumped off the table. "You would risk damaging me? Bruising me? Carving up your _beautiful_ Deidara in a fight to keep me here and immortalise me?"

There was a manic, homicidal gleam in Deidara's eyes as he stalked towards his captor. He threw Sasori's words back at him: " _Somehow I doubt it_ , mn."

Heart in his throat, Sasori edged away, backing straight into the arms of the blue-black-haired puppet. Its arms dropped onto Sasori's shoulders.

"Lord Third! Get off!" Sasori exclaimed as he jumped aside, embarrassed by his outburst.

"Lord Third?" Deidara cocked his head. "As in the Third Duke of Winchester? _You_ were the cause of his disappearance? Truly, I would not have made the connection were he not standing in front of me. The portraits never depict him quite so… casually, but of course now that I look, I see the resemblance."

Deidara continued to slowly stalk after Sasori. The floor was sticky beneath his bare feet. Gritty.

Sasori inhaled. He exhaled. He tightened his grip on the knife. He had to recover his composure. There had to be a solution to this… _hiccup_ in his perfect plan. He could not attack Deidara. He could not risk damaging that perfect body.

“Yes, the Third Duke of Winchester,” he stalled, scanning the room for something, _anything_ he could use to subdue Deidara without damaging him. _Why_ had he thought it would be a good idea to brew poisons in a different room?

“Is he your _favourite_?” Deidara asked melodramatically. “I heard you talking to him, mn.”

Sasori’s temper flared. “What do you know? He was my… my… Have you ever loved someone so much you would _die_ to be with them?”

“You mean ‘kill!’” Deidara shot back, curling back his lips in distaste. “I doubt _very much_ that he sacrificed himself for the sake of your love. And yet, if this is what you do to the people you love, I suppose I should be honoured, mn.”

“It’s so I can keep you with me. Always,” Sasori said faintly. “So you’ll never leave me.”

He was running out of options. At least the door was locked. The key was around his neck, as always. Both hands gripping his knife, he placed his back to the door, just in case.

Noticing, Deidara sneered: "Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of leaving here. All of my preparations were completed well before I arrived this evening, mn."

Fear slapped into Sasori's gut like a bucket of ice water.

"What are you talking about?" he said sharply, brows pinched tightly together. “Of course you want to escape. You’ve cracked your case. Found the Puppet Master. You’ll expose me. Glorify yourself. Isn’t _this_ what you wanted?”

"No, love. No. You’ve had it all wrong from the start, mn,” Deidara said. He spread his hands wide; a devil’s grin played on his lips. “ _Police Inspector_ Deidara Stone? Me? You think I care about solving crimes? I _make_ them. Being on the inside lets me stay one step ahead. _Frees_ me to create my _art_ , mn.”

“Your… art?”

“You haven’t guessed it yet?” Deidara leered. “I'm the Arsonist, love. And your house of horrors is my next work of art. In fact, if all goes to plan, it will be my _final_ masterpiece, mn."

"Impossible," Sasori said through gritted teeth. “You can’t be the Arsonist. You’re too… you’re too…”

“Too _what_? Too good? Too innocent? Too much of a gentleman?” Deidara laughed at the absurdity of it.

“You’re too _stupid_!” Sasori exclaimed, waving his knife. “You—you—”

“I guess I acted my part well enough, if I had even you fooled,” Deidara pouted. “It really was too perfect, working for the police. Opened all sorts of doors, mn.”

Sasori still could not quite believe that any of this was real.

“Like the door to my house?” Sasori scoffed. “You’ve never set foot inside this place until today. How do you plan on blowing it up? I would have noticed barrels of gunpowder turning up or, or piles of dynamite being delivered."

"One would think that, yes," Deidara replied lightly. "But you _didn't._ Not with the endless stream of workers you have in and out of this place for renovations. You think _you're_ good at disguising yourself? I've joined _dozens_ of crews and you never once recognized me." He scoffed. "Now this place is rigged to blow sky high, mn!"

Sasori gripped his knife tighter; it slipped in his sweaty palm.

“How.” It was not a question. It was a command.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bore you with the technical details, love,” Deidara smirked.

“How do I stop you?”

Deidara took one stop closer, but remained out of Sasori’s reach.

"You can’t, mn.”

“Why not?” Sasori growled. He did not have the patience for this. This madman had to be bluffing.

“Because the countdown has already begun, love,” he said, the picture of relaxed confidence. “I activated the clockwork detonator when we passed through your portrait gallery, mn."

Sasori stared at Deidara, who, despite being without a stitch of clothing, held at knifepoint, was _grinning_ and confident. He wasn’t bluffing. Sasori was about to lose his house to the Arsonist.

“NO!” Sasori roared. He threw himself at Deidara, slashing his knife left and right.

"Hah!" Naked, leering, loose hair swinging wildly, Deidara countered him with ease. He was, after all, a trained policeman, raised on the dog-eat-dog streets of London.

The knife clattered across the floor; Deidara slammed Sasori bodily into the door. Sasori grunted in pain and squirmed as Deidara twisted him around, maneuvered him into position: cheek to the door, arms pinned behind his back and legs spread. Immobilised like a common criminal.

Deidara pressed his naked body close. Sasori could feel every inch of him through his clothes. Feverish heat flooded his veins. No. The door was warm. He listened: crackling, popping. He smelled burning wood.

"What have you done?!" he lamented, twitching beneath Deidara's weight.

"It's already begun, mn," Deidara murmured into Sasori's ear. His lips were so close that they caressed Sasori's skin like butterfly wings every time he spoke. "The strips of smokeless powder lining your new portrait frames and every piece of wainscoting have begun to burn. What a beautiful invention: nitroglycerin bound to a solid substance. They use it as a propellant for bullets. Oh, how it burns! Defines the word ‘fire power,’ ha! Soon the flames will kiss every fuse I laid, and the dynamite I've secreted away in every chimney, every cupboard, and under the new floorboards of the bedrooms will—"

A deafening explosion cut through his words. Floor and ceiling shuddered; a shower of dust fell from the rafters.

Deidara shook with mad laughter. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed, hugging Sasori tightly.

Sasori fumed. "How dare you!" he choked. He jerked and twisted, managing to turn himself in Deidara's arms so that they were nose to nose.

"And what of this room?" Sasori growled, searching ecstatic blue eyes for doubt, for fear and finding none. A thin veil of gray smoke filled the air. Sweat soaked Sasori's back, glistened on Deidara's chest.

Deidara's grin had not faded. He dipped his head and planted a biting kiss on Sasori's neck, causing the redhead to cry out. This earned him a lungful of smoke and a bout of hacking coughs.

"It's true,” Deidara responded, widening his crazed blue eyes. “I was never able to rig this room: you kept it locked and its sole key was always on your person. ‘How could I ever find my way inside?’ I wondered.” He drew a rasping breath of smoky air and renewed his grin. “Then I realised that you were pursuing me. I realised what you wanted to do to me. It was risky, but here we are! Although I confess: I never expected to be doing this naked…”

He cupped Sasori’s face in his hand and rubbed a thumb over Sasori’s cheek, dug into it with his nail. Drew blood. Sasori turned his face away. His lungs were burning. His watering eyes leaked trails down his cheeks.

“Had you not been so kind as to bring my waistcoat with us,” Deidara continued, “I may have had to resort to more… primitive methods of destruction, but thankfully…"

Fingertips tiptoed down Sasori's heaving chest, down his torso and slipped into his waistcoat pocket. Deidara extracted a metal cigar case and a book of matches. There was another cigar case in the other pocket.

Sasori slumped against the door: he was having trouble catching his breath. Smoke scraped at his throat.

Deidara seemed unaffected, but he suffered equally: dizzy-headed, burning eyes. He drew another deep inhale of glorious smoke and released Sasori from his grip. The redhead slid weakly to the floor, gazing up at Deidara with bloodshot eyes.

"If you'd tried to smoke one of these you'd have been painfully surprised, mn," Deidara murmured as he flipped open one of the cases. They were tiny sticks of dynamite.

With a wink, he spun and made a show of counting the human puppets.

"…eight, nine, ten!" He spun back to face Sasori with a school boy's sappy smile. "Perfect! I was afraid I'd not have enough, but in fact I brought enough to blow each of them twice! More for us later, mn!"

“You’re insane.” Sasori pulled himself to his feet, staggering against the door. This had to end. He could lose the house, that was tolerable. But he could not stand by while this madman destroyed his precious works of art. This had to end.

The door at his back shuddered and cracked. He could hear the roar of the fire which raged on the other side. Any hope he'd held of escaping with his life evaporated in that moment.

The knife, where was the knife…

Deidara had the knife. He was using it to roughly split open the stomachs of Sasori's beloved puppets, into which he inserted a stick or two of dynamite, depending on its size.

When he arrived before Hidan, he reached out a tentative hand and stroked that iconic silver hair. It felt stiff, unreal, with none of the softness of life.

"I'm sorry it came to this, my friend," Deidara muttered at the floor.

Sasori seized his chance. He ripped a leather strap from the operating table, threw it around Deidara's neck and pulled _hard_. Deidara gagged and flailed, clawing at his throat, scratching at Sasori behind his back. The angle was difficult: if Sasori were taller it would have been easy. But with his head pounding, lungs full of smoke, he was in no condition to follow through.

Deidara bucked and fought. His vision darkened. He was not at his peak either. But like hell would he just lay down and die like this. Not when he was this close.

A scream tore from his throat as he hurled Sasori into the air. The redhead slammed into the operating table, catching a corner square in the middle of his back. Something snapped. He gasped. Ribs. Broken ribs. If it had hurt to breathe before, now every breath was excruciating. He collapsed to the floor and stayed there, his back against the leg of the table, his arms limp by his sides as Deidara continued his preparations.

“Why are you doing this?” Sasori gasped out each word. Agonizing pain shot through his spine. Sweat soaked his forehead, condensed, and dripped off the end of his chin. The longer he sat, the clearer it became: something else was… wrong in his back. His legs were numb.

Deidara did not reply. He moved methodically from puppet to puppet until his preparations were complete. Sasori could do nothing but breathe the sickening air.

The door splintered. Thick black smoke poured into the room.

The match pinched between Deidara's fingers hissed to life.

"This is it, mn."

Sasori gazed up at him, bleary-eyed.

"Why are you doing this?" he repeated.

Deidara threw a glance over his shoulder. “Because the Puppet Master is the antithesis of everything I believe, mn.”

He lowered his match to the fuse of the dynamite protruding from Hidan's stomach. The blast radius of these was not large. They would destroy the puppets, but not reach Sasori on the floor by the table.

_Bam_! Hidan exploded in a flurry of dried flesh and bone. Burning hot air burst across Deidara's left cheek, deafened his left ear.

“That can’t be the only reason,” Sasori whispered breathlessly.

On to the next.

“True art is the art of a single moment.”

_Bam_! The next one went, searing Deidara's forearm.

Another match. Another fuse.

“Destruction is the only beautiful thing in this world, mn.”

_Bam_!

“Nothing lasts forever.”

_Bam_!

“Clinging to that which you’re afraid to lose is ugly and pointless.”

_Bam_! _Bam_!

“Because one day, no matter how hard you cling, they _will_ leave you, mn.”

_Bam_! _Bam_! _Bam_!

"Stop!" Sasori cried. Relentless heat evaporated the tears on his face almost faster than he could produce them. "Look at what you've done to yourself!"

Deidara's ears were bleeding. Burns throbbed on his arms, face, and chest.

He stood before Lord Third.

"You're his favourite," Deidara muttered, cupping that stern, death-mask of a face in both hands. "The one he never wanted to lose. Perhaps he'd like to die in your arms, mn."

"Deidara… please…" Sasori’s voice was quiet. "Enough. Wasn’t I good to you? What did I ever do to earn such hatred?"

Moving so slowly that he barely seemed to move at all, Deidara struck a match and lowered it to Third's fuse. He turned so that he faced Sasori and blocked Sasori's view of the puppet with his body.

Blood vessels had burst in his eyes and a livid bruise ringed his throat, but the tenderness in those blood-darkened eyes made Sasori's breath catch in his throat.

"I don't hate you, mn."

_Bam_! Burning air and debris tore open Deidara’s back. Third was no more.

_CRACK_! The door fell away. Flames poured into the room.

Deidara staggered forward. The fistful of dynamite he held scattered to the floor as he tripped and slammed to his knees. He crawled until his head lay in Sasori's lap. His back was charred and bleeding freely.

"I don't hate you…" He looked up at Sasori with a sad smile, face radiant in the fire-glow. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever known. To die here with you, my love… it’s the highest honour, mn."

Hot tears streamed down Sasori's cheeks. He could see that Deidara's head rested on his legs, but he couldn't feel his weight at all. He combed dirty fingers through stringy, sweaty blond hair. Flames surrounded them. Burning hair, burning flesh. The fuses of the dynamite Deidara had scattered around them hissed mockingly.

With the last of his strength, Sasori pulled Deidara up, into his arms; heads rested on shoulders. Deidara squeezed Sasori tightly; his fingers dug deep into Sasori's flesh.

The world blew apart before they could speak another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i didn't mean to END SasoDei Week by literally ending them, but that's just how the prompts worked out... somehow, it's very fitting. let me know how you felt about it in the comments!


End file.
